


Scenes From Fusions I'll Probably Never Flesh Out

by sian1359



Category: Cal Leandros - Rob Thurman, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Introspection, M/M, Other, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: Three scenes from three different fusions, that maybe one day I'll revisit.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Kudos: 5
Collections: Marvel Big Bang 2019





	1. The One Where They Are Characters from The Magicians (tv not book)

**Author's Note:**

> I had so many ideas this year. The three scenes that follow were once each going to be my story for this year's Marvel Big Bang. But I ran out of gas on each of them, and finally got one going that was going to work all the way through and not just as a scene, but real life happened and time ran out, and so this is what I've got. (I will finish the Stranger Things/Marvel fusion, just way, way late.)
> 
> Auburnnothenna saved my ass and made sure these were coherent. Any changes after the fact are not her fault.

**1.**

Shock is a crazy thing.

When he was young, shock was always followed by fear.

(Fists.)

Soon enough, though, Clint found himself feeling disappointed, not shocked. Angry, too, as he got used to the lies and betrayal from the adults around him.

(The people who were supposed to care about and even love him.)

He's gotten used to good things always turning to shit. Even magic –

(Especially magic)

– since it should be his salvation.

But magic is as much a disappointment –

(More)

– as it is his deliverance. It's the one thing Clint's really good at. It's also the one thing which always ends up hurting him the worst.

The crazy part is that Clint thought he'd inured himself to it all. That he's too jaded, too cynical for anything to still shock him. His brother's death – hell, even his parents' deaths hadn't really _shocked_ him. Bad things were _supposed_ to happen to bad people. 

(Like being expelled from Shield University had always just been a matter of time. Lying, stealing, those kind of things _should_ have consequences, even if his motivations had been good.)

Bucky, though … Somehow, in getting to know James Fucking-Buchanan Barnes, Clint let himself grow soft. Even more so than he allowed himself to be around Natasha.

(He'd wanted to be soft for Tasha from the start, and had tried right up until he left her without even saying goodbye. Maybe, if he'd been honest enough to show his jagged edges, he could have asked for help instead of stealing away like the thief he always seems to fall back into being.)

Clint and Bucky shouldn't work. They'd taken an instant dislike to one another despite Steve's best efforts; both seeing only their flaws reflected back by their similarities. Their animosity for one another had only gotten worse when Clint learned that Bucky worked willingly with Barney. And that before Barney, Bucky had studied with the hedge witch who went by the name of Loki –

(The pretentious bastard)

– the same hedge witch who Barney had basically sold Clint to in order to pay off Barney's debts. There's a part of Clint that _still_ wants to blame Bucky for Barney's death, even though Clint had _hated_ Barney –

(He loved Barney once. Adored his big brother; his protector)

– and knew it had to have been Barney's idea to steal from Loki, not Bucky's. That if he hadn't died from Loki's curse, Barney would have eventually crossed someone else he shouldn't have, to the same result.

Bucky paid his own price for the exceedingly stupid idea of stealing from Loki. Instead of taking his life, Loki's curse took Bucky's arm and, with it, Bucky's ability to do magic. It was only due to Steve and Tony uncovering the right spells, and then traveling out into the Nine Realms to find and convince a dwarven metalsmith of extraordinary skill, that Bucky now had a prosthetic that had the sensitivity and range of motion to allow him to cast spells.

(Clint, himself, had been under the threat of having his memories of magic taken away after Dean Fury learned of his acts against Shield, a threat dire enough that Clint had fled from Natasha and his other friends when Professor Blake warned him, even though he would have lived the rest of his life never knowing of his loss.)

To have to live on and be _aware_ of what you'd lost … yeah, death would be preferable.

Even now, after what had happened in the last hour, Clint couldn’t say he wished he'd never learned magic was real, and that the _Tales of the Nine Realms_ wasn't just a series of fantasy books from some author's imagination. Clint thinks even Bucky would feel the same, though maybe not right away or even in the near –

(Far)

– future.

No, the two of them shouldn't work, but they do.

(Did.)

They'd become friends during Bucky's rehab and Clint's attempts at redemption, then grew even closer through their searches for new forms of magic and new ways to use what they already know. Bucky had been there when Clint finally talked himself into boxing up Barney's old apartment –

(Shared childhood)

– while Clint stood beside Bucky, flesh and in metal , when Steve explained that Shield not accepting Bucky as a student had been a mistake; that Bucky _would_ have been accepted into Shield –

(Had been in 38 other realities)

– but that they'd been living out a series of time loops whose purpose was finding the one change that didn't result in Shield's destruction and everyone's deaths, but instead led to the death of the monster stalking them.

Clint plans to confront Fury, once things have been dealt with here. He'll fucking kill the Dean himself if it turns out that Fury knew Bucky would lose his arm –

(Lose his way)

– beforehand. That Fury deemed it _necessary_ for Bucky to lose all he had, so that Bucky would find the Free Trader Hydra website and meet Pierce, thus ensuring that tonight happened. And so help him, but if Clint finds out that Fury set Bucky up to get possessed by Zola … well, Fury will find himself wishing the Red Skull had won again, final time loop or not. Trading Bucky's life –

(Or soul)

– so that someone _might_ be able to win the upcoming battle against the Red Skull wasn't Fury's decision to make. Steve will undoubtedly agree with Clint, not that he can tell Steve or even Natasha. Steve would feel compelled to call the cops despite most of the world knowing nothing about magic –

(And how do you prove an Old God possessed someone – that Bucky had been forced to kill the Hydra members – anyway?)

– while Natasha would charge after Pierce for using her friends as pawns and most likely get possessed or killed herself.

(Clint is under no illusion that he beat Pierce and Zola. He surprised them is all, by not wasting time trying to defend himself from Bucky as the others had. By taking the chance that even gods need two hands to kill or cast spells effectively while working through someone else's body. Even as Bucky had struck out at him, Clint undid the spells that allowed Bucky to use his prosthetic, and then made it look like he would kill Bucky rather than be killed himself. Zola had then fled from Bucky's body into his acolyte's; out of caution or fear, or maybe just because Zola is the type of God that likes to play with his prey once they prove mildly interesting. Clint has no doubt that Zola isn't done with him or Bucky, but that's okay, as he's not done with the God, either.)

It takes Clint a few seconds to realize that the pounding he's hearing isn't his blood or his heart, but is instead against the door. He's pretty sure that if any neighbors have heard or seen anything even with the blocking spells they'd put in place before the summoning ritual, the cops would have already shown up. They probably wouldn't be knocking first, either.

Which means it is most likely Loki on the other side of the door, coming in answer to Clint's call despite certain promises Clint had made if he ever ran into the hedge witch again, since Barney's death had made things quits between them.

Bucky is worth swallowing his pride.

(Worth racking up his own debts for.)

Truly believing that doesn't mean Clint isn't ready to puke again, but he doesn't, and won't. Pride, even damaged, is good for some things.

"You must be truly desperate to come to me for help."

Clint grits his teeth on the reply he wants to give the bastard, and just takes a step back. Loki smiles as if he knows exactly how much Clint wants to slam the door –

(Punch his fucking, smirking mouth)

– but then stops as well as loses the smile when he walks far enough into Bucky's apartment. The bodies speak for themselves, as does an unresponsive –

(Catatonic)

\-- Bucky from where Clint had deposited him on the couch.

"Will they be missed – "

"Of course they will – "

"Not by you or tall, dark, and catatonic," Loki interrupts back, with a hint of exasperation. "Will there be people coming to look for them?"

"No," Clint responds, relief coloring his tone that, at another time, would embarrass the hell out of him.

Although Loki is never not dangerous –

(He wields smugness and mockery with the same skills he applies to magic.)

– and there are few lines he won't cross, if you are willing to pay his price, Loki's aid is true and reliable. Were he going to blow Clint off, he'd have simply laughed at the situation and already be leaving, instead of asking questions. 

"I don’t think so," Clint amends. "They called themselves Free Trader Hydra, and were all sharing an abandoned warehouse like a commune – or a cult. No families, or at least none who talked to them anymore, and no regular jobs. I think Bucky said Pierce had been a priest, though if he really was counseling people at rehab centers instead of just scouting out undiscovered hedges, he wasn't currently working with any specific church."

"And what was the point of all of this?" Loki asks, even as he draws shapes over the bodies and they, along with the blood spatters disappear.

Clint gives Loki his answers instead of asking where the bodies will turn up. Curiosity isn't enough reason to add to the nightmares that will be coming.

"Pierce suggested that hedges look to religion and, more specifically, to the myths and legends of the Old Gods to replace what Shield would have given and taught us. Bucky thought he'd made a connection to Our Lady of Rebirth, so for the last few days, we've been gathering the things we'd need to do a summoning. "

"You and your friends start searching for one of the Old Gods and you don't come to me? I'm hurt, Barton."

Loki couldn't possibly mean what he was implying.

"You're not – "

"Am I not?" the hedge witch interrupts, chin rising and voice turning lofty. "I suppose, in your blinded views, a god would never stoop so low as to teach humans how to work their minor magics, and I'll admit that I haven't been what I used to be, not for many a century and definitely not after my treacherous brother helped Shield hobble me, but for a time Thor – oh, I'm sorry, you knew him as Professor Blake – and I quite enjoyed our years at Shield. I find it deliciously appropriate that Thor's guilt over what he allowed has him sequestering himself in the Tromsø facility, as some kind of penance. "

"To think," Loki continues, while Clint just stands there gobsmacked, reeling from two massive shocks in the span of two hours.

"You already knew two gods, poor boy. But at least there is some good news here. Dear James will recover from the physical damages Zola's possession caused, his mind intact with nary a memory lost. Or maybe that isn't all good news?" Loki asks. "I can alter his memories; give him happier ones to overlay what he did. Yours too."

For a moment Clint is tempted. The shit he had to do for Loki over the years is nothing compared to what Zola forced Bucky to do in the span of just a few minutes. But with Pierce and the god still out there, they're still potential targets, and even blunting their memories might slow them down and get them killed if –

(When)

– the god comes after them.

There's also the matter that making such a decision _for_ Bucky would make Clint no better than Fury, if Fury has known this would happen. Clint has little doubt that Bucky will have all kinds of new trauma over this, and if at some point in the future Bucky chooses to lose these memories, Clint will support him, but he doesn't think Bucky will ever ask for that. In matters such as this, they are very much alike, and although living and dealing with trauma hurts like a son of a bitch, it's also made them the men they are.

(The men who eventually found and fell in love with each other.)

Taking away that pain might make things easier in the short term, but it would diminish them.

(Deny the strength of their survival.)

"Thank you, but no," Clint grits out.

For a second, Clint thinks he sees something like respect in Loki's expression, though it and his voice instantly turn mocking again.

"Good news, too, about the price for my aid." Loki adds a little noise with his laugh and gives a wave of light that sparks into puffs and then nothingness. "You've already paid it, agreeing to live with knowing this need not to have happened. Two gods, yet you sought out a demon."

Almost against his will, Clint's hands start forming a spell that won't dissipate so harmlessly, but he manages to stop himself despite the look of challenge in Loki's eyes. God or not, Loki is still the better magician –

(Even if Clint hadn't already channeled and exhausted his battle magic spells.)

– and Loki didn't have to have come. Or stay.

"If you're done then, don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out."

No one said Clint had to be gracious about Loki's help.

-finis-


	2. The One Where They Are Characters From The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki reflects on their plan for Wanda and friends.

**2.**

There were many reasons Lilith had spent the last few millennia as Loki; human civilization's predilection to ape Adam's misogyny chief among them. Still, the last few months of looking and acting as a woman again had been fun as well as useful. Given that mortals still considered few women to be a credible threat, Loki had been able to move amongst them quite easily in their 'borrowed' body, yet was also able to take advantage of the more liberal views in regard to sex and equality which this local gathering of humanity had finally adopted.

So it was with some reluctance that Loki cast their glamour to turn themself old and feeble after taking such care to liberate their new body from the dowdy, mousy existence its former inhabitant had embraced. Being perceived as the now sexy Ms. Wardwell had delivered them their quarry, along with plenty of basic information about the young witch's friends and family.

Facts without insight, however, were hollow and did not provide the final details Loki needed to enact their plan.

Loki wasn't about to be set aside again. As Lilith back in those first days, they had been promised a partnership as gift for the care and love they'd freely given the fallen one. They'd been promised dominion over Earth or Hell, but only once the creatures were worthy of Lilith's rule. They'd been promised something Thanatos had no intention of granting, Loki now saw, given how Thanatos was promising the same honor to the Maximoff girl if she only just acknowledged "Lord Satan" as her master. 

_They_ had given millennia of service to the working of the 'great' plan, receiving no more praise and affection than a dog got from its owner. To now have this scrap of a halfbreed mortal/witch be offered what Loki had _earned_ a million times over? Well, fuck Thanatos and his promises of a future which never came. Loki didn't need Thanatos to give them anything. They would take their own reward from a beaten and vulnerable Thanatos by using Wanda Maximoff for their own purposes against "Lord Satan".

Thus, their glamour. And their tarot.

It was the perfect day for it, all wet and miserable because of the lingering storm; nasty enough that even a wary cambion would be hard pressed to turn away an elderly woman just looking for a place to rest and dry off as she passed through town; just an amusing old lady who would offer to entertain his customers with a little bit of fortune telling; just another spooky and harmless element in his ridiculous Triskelion, a book store and malt shop, for an afternoon. The rain would also mingle the magics in the air from the preponderance of witches and their spell-casting throughout Greendale and its environs, diluting Loki's own, more powerful spells to any watching eye, while the wind would spread their questing spell throughout the town to bring the people they wanted straight to them.

The cambion's lover – who was also a warlock as well as Wanda's 'dear Uncle Clint', – took one look at Loki's broken umbrella, bedraggled hat, and their sodden clothes, then escorted them toward one of the tables while asking if Coulson would, "Pour this poor woman a cup of tea," while he fetched a towel from the back. Along with the towel and tea, Loki was also given a plump turnover filled with sweet blackberries, and a tasty oat, apple, cinnamon, and nutmeg scone. "On the house."

No spell required. Not even a suggestion other than the appearance Loki presented. Even men who preferred the company of other men could be counted upon to be chivalrous, at least to someone old enough to be their grandmother.

The next bit turned out just as easy. When Loki made move to return their billfold back into their purse, a couple of cards from their tarot deck 'accidentally' slipped out. Coulson reached for them before his lover could warn him against doing so.

For a moment Loki worried the dampening spell they'd cast to mask any hint of the cards' power and influence had failed, but it became obvious by the sheepish look Barton then gave Coulson, he'd been operating on reflex, not suspicion .

"The artwork on these major arcana cards is extraordinary," Coulson complimented, offering the three that he'd gathered toward his lover that he might also better see them. "I have sold many different styles of decks here in the shop, but I've never seen these images before."

Interesting. The High Priestess, the Tower, and the World. Avoidance, Upheaval, and then Fulfillment. No matter if past, present, and future, or any other spread, it appeared that on the surface, Coulson was on the path to achieving his dreams. It would be quite interesting to see what lay under that surface. The Tower could have just as well had Loki's image on it, as Chaos was exactly who they were.

"These cards are unique," Loki informed them, speaking the complete truth as these _trionfi_ had been the _first_ triumph card produced, back in the early 1400s. Loki had hand painted the triumph cards in order to attract the attention of the Duke of Milan's wife, who constantly played four-suited card games with her hand maidens. "Hand done, and never copied."

Like Coulson now, Beatrice had become fascinated by the imagery, plying Loki for stories about the inspirations. Being one of Duke Filippo Maria Visconti's _condottiero_ had been all well and good—Loki had become an expert in planning campaigns and had always enjoyed killing – but a military strategist was only useful as long as there was enough money to pay for conquest, and Beatrice's dowry had been running out. Watching Beatrice return again and again to the card depicting two lovers, it had been easy to see that Beatrice had grown unhappy being married to such a paranoid and cruel man as Visconti, and then to contrive rumors of a tryst with Beatrice's young troubadour to reach the Duke's ears. With Beatrice then convicted and executed for committing adultery, Visconti remarried for a new dowry, and the conquering continued.

As did the fascination with Loki's special cards. By paying attention to which cards others most liked – or feared – Loki had been able to gain valuable information on the people around them. Something they'd had no intention of abandoning just because of an occasional misreading of another's interest in a specific card. They thus invented cardomancy when they then ensorcelled the cards to always reveal an inner truth, and others took to creating their own _trionfi_ and applying a constant set of attributes to each 'card of secrets'.

The spell to preserve the cards had actually been harder than the one to turn them into divination tools. Entropy was a bitch to overcome, whereas every time they were used, the recipient's belief in the cards' power added to the energies Loki imbued in them.

"The artist has a discerning eye," Barton commented with a touch of awe in his voice.

Even dampened so that even the age of the cards was masked, Loki's _trionfi_ had a fearsome beauty that even a mortal could recognize. 

"If you'd like, I could offer readings to your customers," Loki suggested, keeping their tone light and playful. Like a reading was purely for amusement, and that they didn't care one way or the other. "As a way of paying you back for your shelter and hospitality, as well as passing time until the storm passes."

Looking at the cambion's face, all Loki could think was that sometimes, it really was too easy.

Or maybe not, when they glanced to the lover and saw the warlock's brow had darkened.

"But I wouldn't want to get in the way of your business," Loki quickly demurred.

Given the shop was empty, save for the three of them, they were counting on feeling guilt or feeling foolish, to sway Barton away from what they hoped was merely reflexive paranoia..

Witches and warlocks, after all, rarely liked it when mortals pretended to be psychics or clairvoyants.

"Nonsense," Coulson said with laughter underlying his tone.

Whistling past the graveyard? Or, just maybe, dear Uncle Clint hadn't come clean to his lover about being a warlock, so Coulson didn't know that magic was real, and dangerous, even in the hands of a mortal? Maybe the cambion didn't even know he _was_ a cambion. Now that was a delicious thought. But unlikely, given Loki didn't think Coulson was a virgin.

"There's a chair tucked over by the side window for sampling readers that we can move you to," Coulson prattled on. "Just in case we do get our after school crowd despite the rain. We can bring over one of the unused stock tables for you to lay your cards out upon. I've even got an old velvet cape from last Halloween that we can use to make an appropriate looking drape. The students will love it."

"And I won't be beholden to you for your generosity," Loki agreed, with a side-eye and a wink toward the lover. Favors traded were much tidier than gifts.

"Once it gets set up, would one of you like to go first?" Loki then offered, taking care not to look too long in invitation to either of them lest they give themself away.

Loki would be happy to read either of them, though there was probably more information to be gained from Wanda's uncle. They had no guarantee that Wanda would be one of the ones coming into the shop on her own or through the spell, as Loki hadn't been able to target anyone specifically without risking the spell being detected.

If Barton agreed, it would be Loki's first true opportunity to judge – maybe even test – one of Wanda's protectors. Wanda's Aunt Natasha had the more fearsome reputation from both mortal and witch gossip, and _someone_ in the household certainly had been able to chase off the odd ghost and demon Loki had encouraged to take an interest in Wanda. If Lady Romanoff was the witch the others thought her to be, only Cull Obsidian would have been a challenge for her, but even if that had been so, that didn't have to mean that Barton wasn't an accomplished warlock in his own right. If nothing else, Loki did not think the Lady Natasha would have suffered to allow an inept practitioner to live under her roof and have a hand in raising Wanda, blood relation or not.

Learning the abilities, strengths, and weaknesses of those around Wanda was why Loki was here, after all.

"Maybe later." Barton didn't even try to fake sincerity, though he had to be assuming his smile would be enough for the woman Loki appeared to be.

"And you, sir?" Loki offered more directly to Coulson this time. While not expecting to gain any significant intel from the cambion, they were curious. Successful incubi were rare in this age, since any woman could terminate an unplanned pregnancy with few consequences. Finding a child of such a union was almost unheard of and, therefore, interesting. Discovering who his sire had been, and whether that one was still alive … it was always worthwhile to have an incubus on hand.

Coulson finally looked uneasy, although whether from Loki's encouragement or Barton's obvious disapproval, Loki couldn't yet tell. Then it didn't matter, as Coulson's reprieve came when the bell over the door chimed, followed quickly by:

"Uncle, you promised me blackberry turnovers if I picked them by hand, and I've come to collect!"

Ah, the cousin. As useful a get as Barton, and maybe even more so. By reputation, Stark would demand to be read because he'd find it amusing, and because Barton would not.

Loki had heard all about Wanda's cousin from Wanda herself. After years condemned to house arrest for challenging Father Stane _and_ the Antipope too many times, Tony Stark had only recently had his sentence commuted by agreeing to be Stane's Head Boy at the Academy of Unseen Arts. Wanda had been complaining to Loki, both at Stark being picked over her, and because Stark had previously been Wanda's confidant and champion when it came to her struggles with magic and her place in the Church of Night, but that ever since he'd won his freedom, he'd had little time for her. When Loki had pointed out that if they'd been trapped in one place for seventy-five years, they, too, might be distracted and have little time for a sixteen year old girl, Wanda had nodded and laughed at herself for feeling put out.

If, however, it turned out that Stark had only served as Wanda's mentor and co-conspirator because of a lack of any options; that he didn't really feel a closeness now that it was no longer forced … that could definitely be something Loki could work with.

On the heels of Stark, the ex-boyfriend, the maybe ex-best friend (and seer, of all things), and the boy trapped in a girl's body came in. Up until Wanda had transferred her studies to the Academy of Unseen Arts (and her affections to the young warlock, Nick Jarvis), Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Roberta, now Bruce, Banner, had been Wanda's closest companions. Really, all Loki needed now was for Wanda herself, with or without the new boyfriend, and maybe one or all three of the Weird Sisters, Wanda's nemeses, to show up, and they'd have the full set of those who knew all of Wanda Maximoff's flaws and vulnerabilities.

Thanatos would never see them coming.

\- finis -


	3. The One Where They Are Characters from Rob Thurman's Cal Leandros Book Series

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets a potential new friend.

**3.**

Journals are stupid. Steve wants me to write in one, since I'm not about to go to a shrink, says it will help. So once a day I write down quotes I think would make good t-shirts and the occasional dirty limerick – interesting things that aren't what I'm 'supposed' to be dealing writing about. Just so that when he asks if I wrote in my journal today, I'm not lying when I tell him yes.

Today's quote is a good one:

_I love sarcasm. It’s like punching people in the face but with words._

After a few clicks and a little typing, it'll be in my hands by Thursday. Just to make Steve nag a little less, I ordered in on a gray tee instead of black.

The thing about the journal, though, is that Steve might be right. While I don't write down my feelings, I can't stop from thinking about them. Dwelling on them, to be honest, on the bad days. On other days I prefer to sleep through my feelings, or just go find shit to punch. I'd eat them, but Steve has opinions on that too, and some things just aren't worth the hassle.

Today's an okay day. One of the ones where I feel like I've come to terms with being a monster. I've had to since you can only hate yourself for so long without doing something so destructive you can't back from it. Wallowing over what they made me is no longer worth it either, now that Steve has stopped his own wallowing in guilt for not being able to protect me and has started kicking my ass anytime he thinks I'm self-sabotaging.

Seriously, Stevie? How in the hell did you think you could protect me from the cannibalistic proto-elf from Tumulus that my mom thought would be good idea to sleep with?

Yes, folks, Hell is real. As are demons, vampires, and all of the other creatures we've Disney-fied, to convince little kids to grow up honest and moral.

Like the kids we were then, living off the grid and on our own. Worried about dear old dad, yeah, but he was the bogeyman, the thing you see out of the corner of your eye, and while Steve had always believed me when I told him the demon was real, dad had only ever watched for so many years that I figure that was all he'd ever do. We learned how to fight and shoot, and how to even sass our way out of trouble, but that was because of human predators in my mind, not supernatural ones. Things like not getting busted, like finding food and keeping warm were our priorities.

We were wrong, and we certainly paid for it, but we also survived it. And now it was basically over. Life was good and too fucking short to waste writing about shit in the past.

The one part I documented was how I toasted my Mirror Universe doppelganger's ass! Not just because it was the most badass I've ever been, but because I'd finally started to accept and take control of the abilities my Auphe-side genes granted me. There are limits, like how far, how often, and how quickly I can gate, and figuring that out has been a bitch. There are also side effects, some that I do not want Steve to know about, at least not until I have no hope that they will fade and pass. 

Of course, accepting what I am has its downsides beyond the obvious, that I actually am a monster. Like everything else I show any aptitude for – or the things he thinks I should do even when I'm a disaster at it – Steve insists that I practice using my Auphe traits. Like real training. Daily!

I don't even make my bed daily. I don't even do target practice daily, and I _like_ shooting things.

The other bad thing about embracing my inner monster is that Steve is also convinced that I've _tamed_ it and am, therefore, safe to be around normal people. At least he hasn't gone so far as to suggest that I give up my bartending job at The Ninth Circle and find a "real" one. Or decide that I should finally go to college so I can 'be something when I grow up'. Not even he's done that, nor has he picked up new skills beyond those we've needed or still need for survival.

I'd much rather see if we can get our investigative business off the ground than become a cubicle rat, no matter how much money I might be able to make. Sure, not having to worry about where my next meal is coming from because I don't have two nickels to rub together, would have its advantages, but we've managed just fine over the years in keeping a roof over our heads and food in our belly. It isn't like Stevie's vampire girlfriend isn't loaded, anyway, from all the husbands she married and 'outlived' before she found her soulmate in my stick-in-the-mud older brother.

For that matter, if we got really hard up, Steve could always hook up with Tony, as the puck has made it more than clear that he'd be happy to climb Steve like a tree. In addition to having lived for millennia to Peggy's few hundred extra years, it turns out that Tony is as clever as he claims to be, and has not only more money than any mere human could spend, but also homes and caches all over the world, for when he decides he's stayed in one place too long and might get found out as an immortal creature. I imagine Tony could also give up a few souvenirs from his past that would earn him a thousand times what the best family treasure has earned on _Antique Roadshow_ , and that doesn't even take into account all of the kings and scoundrels he claims he's partied with over his lifetime, and their buried treasures.

Now that's a thought worthy of a journal entry. Talk Tony into giving us a treasure map. We could have lots of fun diving in the waters of the Mediterranean, or rocking the Casbah. I can't even remember the last time we took some vacation days.

I set the journal aside. I know I should get up and take it to my bedroom, not because I need to worry that Steve might pick it up and read through it – he's too honorable to violate my privacy like that – but because if I don't, he'll nag me until I do. Only putting it away means I'll be expected to do something else, like put away the other things I might have left out. I would, but I've got to head to work soon, too soon to finish the job, and I already get accused of half-assing things often enough that I'm not going to give him additional ammunition voluntarily.

I wouldn't have that problem if I had my own place. Nat said that more than once to me, back when we were still together. She never really got that it doesn't bother me when Steve nags. That ragging on me means that Steve cares, and that half the time the reason I pull shit like taking off my shoes and leaving my socks under the couch, or leave my dirty dishes on the end table instead of taking them to the sink, is to give Steve the chance to nag. If I did everything I should, he might think I no longer needed him.

It's screwed up, I know. According to what I see on Dr. Phil's, Steve and I are toxically enmeshed. No doubt, like Nat, he'd also tell me I should be looking to a future without Steve. Would say I should break away from my old family and find a gal or guy to put down roots with. Or that Steve should propose or at least moved in with Peggy, now that he's found his one true love. I almost tried it, with Natasha, since finding someone who can handle my darkness as well as my physicality if I lose control isn't easy. If nothing else, she made a lot of sense as a long term solution to scratching occasional itches.

The thing that Nat – that no one seems to understand – is that for most of our lives, it's just been the Steve and me. Our parents' deaths forged our bond. Trying to survive on the streets together strengthened it through the years, even before blood and battle became a part of our lives. It's never mattered that we had different parents; Steve had been my brother even before I knew what that word meant. He practically raised me, and finding me had been his whole purpose for two very formative years. I would have died without him, in those first few months after escaping from my father and whatever he wanted from me while he held me in Tumulus.

Even after I no longer wanted to kill myself, I still needed Steve to help me relearn how to be Bucky as well as just how to be human again. Keeping me in line is his greatest mission – and greatest joy – and although the external Auphe threat that's been looming over our lives since their beginning is finally gone, there is still the internal Auphe threat going on inside of me to worry about, so I just don't see Steve walking away. Not even for Peggy.

In a way, it's sad – more for Steve than for me, since he deserves to have a life that doesn't revolve around blood and death. But if life wasn't unfair, it wouldn't be ours, and there have been some perks along the way.

I do get to shoot at things frequently, and I don't have to make my bed or clean my room. While Natasha and I aren't banging anymore, we're still the kind of friends you can call to come help bury the bodies. And Tony Stark has turned out to be a lot more than just lewd innuendos, namedropping, and boasts of his conquests because of his prowess. He's become the type of friend you'd be willing to end up one of those bodies for, and he's shown us the loyalty to do the same.

There is also Wanda, although she's been keeping to herself so much lately that I'm a bit concerned that she's seen something pretty dire in one of our futures. And there's my boss, Thor, an honest to God Angel who's gone native – if Tony is to be believed – along with Loki; Thor's brother or lover depending on what day it is. Assuming that Tony is telling the truth about the two Peris who co-own The Ninth Circle, the only reputable bar in NYC that caters to the supernatural crowd.

I think we can even call Bruce and Carol, two of the curators at the Metropolitan Museum and a Healer and a Valkyrie respectively, friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances. Okay, useful contacts and employers. A good thirty percent of our cases involving the supernatural have come from one of them, while they'd been willing to provide information for another twenty to thirty percent of our cases.

A not so gentle slap to the back of my head interrupts my rumination.

"Weren't you supposed to be heading to work five minutes ago?" Steve asks, looming over me with a shit-eating grin on his smug, perfect face.

I look at my watch and curse at myself for getting so distracted, and at Steve for not pointing out I'd be late soon enough so I wouldn't be.

Most of the time, Thor's one of those guys who everyone likes and gets along with, even those of us who work for him. But breaking a promise, which includes arriving to work on time as one between me and him, isn't something he tolerates well. When he gets angry, he can yell with a voice that sounds like thunder – like every pronouncement of doom in a Hollywood movie, and you can sense, if not also almost see, the power that he still commands radiating around him like a living thing itself. I've never seen him unleash any of that power, and there is a part of me (that I don't think is even the Auphe part) that really, really wants to see the big guy lose it, but I'm smart enough to know that I do not want to be the guy he's unloading it on.

I race to my bedroom and pick up the first tee that smells like it's clean. It's one that won't get me arrested for public obscenity, even if it's still pretty spot on: _I Stopped Fighting My Inner Demons. We're On The Same Side Now._ I then grab up one of the button downs hanging in the closet. Since everything I wear is black, or grey ,or black and grey, it's not like I have to worry about clashing colors. When I come back out, Steve is also dressed like he's going out, but not like he's heading to his favorite dojo or to go pick up Peggy.

"Where are you going?" I ask because I'm a nosy shit, not because I still feel a flutter of anxiety when we separate.

"With you, at least for a bit. Tony's over to look over the contract Ward Meacham drew up for us to recover the Brazier of Shou-Lao that Rand Corp is so eager to get back."

"So eager, yet they are only willing to pay us our day rate, and we'll have to turn in receipts to get them to cover any expenses," I interrupt.

I would like to think that if I'd lost something that's supposed to hold the heart of a dragon, I'd be a little more generous to the people who were willing to keep quiet about a US-based, international mega-corp losing some cauldron on loan from the Chinese Art Ministry, even if it doesn't turn out to be anything more than a priceless artifact.

"Do you think Meacham is going to try to screw us out of getting paid?"

"I think both of the Meacham heirs are the kind of lawyers that help their father run a multi-billion dollar enterprise that won't pay a living wage to all of their employees," Steve answers, with a wry twist to his expression. "I think that if we do find the brazier, and it does turn out to be anything close to what it's reputed to be and, therefore, something better left out of the hands of someone like Harold Meacham, I'd like to know what kind of trouble we might face if we turn it over to someone else."

Ah, yes, ladies and gentlemen, my brother. Steven Grant Rogers. Someone who believes in doing the moral thing, even if it's not the right thing. He'd be unbearable, except that Ghandi and Mother Theresa would have set their own moral compasses based on Stevie's, and with my own being pretty questionable at times it's nice to be able to rely on his.

Not that all that righteousness isn't a little hard for others to live up to. Still, Peggy said it pretty good, when she was describing Steve's character to Thor, back before he as a human was allowed into The Ninth Circle:

"Steve compromises where he can but where he can't, he doesn't. Even if everyone is telling him that something wrong is something right; even if the whole world is telling him to move, he plants himself like a tree, looks them in the eye, and says 'No, you move'."

If a god-blessed Peri thinks you're worthy …

The best thing about it all, though, is that all that virtuous conviction also makes Steve a hell of a rebel when he needs to be, and both halves of my soul loves that about him.

"Why aren't you just going over to Tony's?" I ask as we head out of the apartment and, thankfully, down the back stairs to the garage, which means Steve's going to drive us there instead of me having to hoof it the three miles, and guarantee that I'll be late – and pissed off – once I get to the bar. While a van would better suit our business, given some of the crap we use or have needed to transport, vans also attract more attention from law enforcement, especially along the meth route highways, and even more especially than the crappy, eight-year-old Corolla we bought instead.

"Because it's the second day of the _Anthesteria_ ," Steve answers as he snatches the keys back from me after I pickpocketed them out of his jacket. "This year Tony is playing host, instead of going as a guest or god stand-in."

I'm not exactly sure what the _Anthesteria_ is, but I can imagine. Whether we believe Tony is the first Puck as he claims, and the basis for Silenus and the satyrs of mythology, he is at least _a_ puck, and Dionysian festivals are definitely a thing of his. And definitely not something Steve would enjoy even stopping by.

"Clothing is not an option once you step over his threshold," Steve continues, as we each get in the car and fasten our seatbelts since he refuses to even start the engine no matter how hot or cold it might be, until I'm 'all buckled in'.

"Even if that's just his newest way of trying to get me out of pants," Steve goes on, "I figure there will be plenty of guests who are more than happy to observe that rule, and there are some things I don't need to see."

I snigger, even though Steve's right. We've both already seen all of Tony's 'glory', which is damn intimidating for a guy that short. Plus, given the variety of creatures that Tony thinks of as friends, how many of them do I really want to see what they pack – and that's assuming they even have conventional genitalia. 

"I'm surprised you got Tony to take a break."

Steve shrugs, even as he's giving a taxi-driver the finger for damn near sideswiping a pedestrian on the sidewalk on his way to cut us off.

I have to snigger again, because for all that Steve's body-is-a-temple and I'm-a-paragon-of virtue, he's still a native Brooklynite, and all New York cabbies are assholes.

"There are times I think Tony's just going through the motions. Just being the decadent, playboy – playpuck? –everyone expects him to be," Steve says with a sad side-eye my direction. "I think he sees what I have with Peggy, and he regrets what he gave away when he practically threw Pepper to Happy."

I think Tony values true friends over casual lovers, and that he did the right thing with Pepper since she's human, and he's going to outlive even me, but bite my tongue instead of saying it since the same could very easily describe Steve and Peggy's relationship. The one thing I've never had the balls to ask Peggy about is whether she plans … whether she even _can_ turn Steve into a vampire before she ends up having to put another man she loves into the ground. I can't even ask Steve if he'd let her, assuming that's one of the things Hollywood actually has gotten right about vampires in the first place, because if she can, but won't; or she will but he says no; or even worse, just by me saying something, the resulting discussion blows their relationship up? It's easy enough to avoid having to think about that kind of shit when you don't expect to live through the next year, but at some point, somebody is going to have to have that conversation. Only that somebody isn't going to be me, thank you very much.

"What about you, Buck? You called things off with Natasha, and you refuse to start anything with Wanda, despite her interest in you. Now that you've dealt with your sire and with Brock as well as all of the other Auphe, are you going to keep playing the field, or maybe look for someone who can tolerate you for more than a few weeks?"

And that, my friends, is the other really big downside to finally getting my shit together. Not to mention having someone in my life who knows me too damn well. For all that he made it sound like teasing, and I've made it sound like I envy and would like to be Tony, even if it was just for a week or so, I'm definitely the one who sees Steve and Peggy together and, while I don't regret that Natasha and I split up, I do regret that she and I couldn't make it work. 

Since I'm not going to get in a relationship with any normal human – in addition to them having to understand that Steve is always going to come first for me, I firmly believe it's imperative that I find someone who I can be honest with not just about who my genes have made me, but also about who my _life_ has turned me into – my options are pretty limited. There's also a part of me that still hopes that in another five or ten years, after we've both more settled into our skin, Nat and I can try again. It's not like I can see anyone else being more accepting than Natasha. But I'm not going to count on that, and I'm not going to wait.

"Going out looking for someone rarely even works when we're doing it to save someone's life, you punk," I reply, not ready to get into it right before an eight hour shift.

As much as I fear Thor's anger, I can't handle his empathetic side either. He's even more of a big, dumb puppy than Steve is when sad, and there's also the likelihood that he'd tell Loki, no matter what those two are to each other, and Loki's a dick enough no matter his gender, to try and set me up on a date just to see me get my ass kicked when the other party found out I was either human, or half-Auphe. 

"If it's going to happen, it sure isn't going to be because I'm trying to _make_ it happen."

Steve nods and pulls into a parking space just down the street from the bar, because he always has the dumb, fucking luck like that, whereas I'd have to park half a mile away, and probably end up getting ticket or vandalized if I'd been driving.

"Just make sure you're not so careful not looking, that you blind yourself to the possibility."

"Jesus, what fortune cookie did you read that in?" I ask and then duck away from the arm that's either reaching over to smack me or put me in a head lock, because most of Steve's parenting/big brother skills had come from television and movies. I feint with a fist toward his chin in return, that Steve knocks away. If we were at home, we'd most likely let this devolve into some real sparring, but we've got places to be. 

All the more quickly, when there's a sudden din of breaking glass and shriek coming from the woman who's just been thrown through the front window of The Ninth Circle. Even as the woman rolls into a crouch, another woman leaps through the same opening and I don't need to take note her distinctive red hair or perfectly structured face to recognize her. The particular tenor of Natasha's short barks and snarls are all too familiar, whether they're from excitement or anger. These are out of anger, although Natasha hasn't shifted or even brought forth her fangs and claws.

So Nat isn't planning on killing her foe, just beating her.

Unable to imagine a singular foe Natasha would need help taking on, I speed past her, with just a, "Go get her," said in encouragement. Thor doesn't take too kindly to fights in his bar, especially ones that result in property damage. Natasha also generally knows better than to let someone get under her skin so much that she attacks, especially within the confines of The Ninth Gate.

Not that she can't fight – hell, even though he's the best goddamn human fighter I've ever seen, I'm not sure that Steve would come out on top if the both of them were going at it to the death; no Bucky to worry about. I expect they'd be more likely to give each other a mortal wound, since they were both also too stubborn to give up and run away to fight another day.

What I'm worried about, is if Natasha started a fight – shit, with a five-tailed kitsune – inside the bar, then it's likely there's a bigger brawl going on amongst the other patrons, and if it's a real donnybrook, someone's bound to get hurt, possibly even someone I might sorta like. Not to mention that if there's enough damage, Thor will have to close down for repairs, which means I don't get paid for a while.

I reach the door, Steve at my heels, so I open it and step behind the door as I'm pulling it out. Sure enough, another body immediate gets thrown toward the new light source, but Steve moves aside and lets it crash down to the ground before stepping over it. I hear three shouts simultaneously, two from voices which I recognize.

"Shit, not another one!" from someone I don't know;

"Steve, you're just in time," from Tony, because of course he beat us here, and of course he's having fun, and;

"James Buchanan Barnes, get your skinny ass in here!" from Sif, goddammit, who's another one of Thor's bartenders, and another Valkyrie, and I guess is also who I am supposed to be relieving on duty.

So I cringe in response.

Thor is too busy cracking the heads of a couple more werewolves together to shout, but he levels me a glare like it's my fault most of the bar is involved in a pretty impressive dust up, and mouths, I _f you put her up to this, you're fired_.

I don't see how he believes it could be my fault; Thor is quite aware that Nat and I aren't together anymore, given he's the one who's been most sympathetic when I get maudlin and pathetic about our breakup. I'm also not sure why he'd think I could talk Natasha into anything now when I couldn't before. I suddenly get it, though, at least in conjunction with that first shout.

There's another human in here. Obviously not one that Thor invited in though he'd also still allowed it to happen, and from the glare and the 'she' directed my way, that human came in with Natasha.

Now, Natasha might enjoy playing with her prey, but she's not particularly cruel, just ruthless. And she likes Thor and the bar enough that she wouldn't want to be banned, which would be the result if she had brought in a human just to get it slaughtered. Which means this human has to know what she is, and most likely what else is likely to be found here, and they didn't object.

I start wading through the fight, bashing jaws and snouts indiscriminately to who is fighting whom, and to what shape they're taking. Once I'm close enough that I can duck under the swing gate and get behind the bar, Sif simply vaults over it and joins in the merriment, leaving me with the responsibility of making sure the expensive shit behind the bar doesn't get broken or stolen. From my new position, I watch her enjoy herself for a few seconds, and then look over to where I can see Steve doing his own cracking of a few heads. Tony is right with him and watching his back to make sure no one gets close enough to hurt him, although Tony isn't doing anything more than defending himself. I breathe a little easier, and start looking around to see if I can find the human as well as distinguish any particular brawlers. It would be a good idea to catch whether there's some grudges being settled in the darker shadows, instead of everyone just letting off some steam and getting a few licks in on their neighbors.

I'm feeling damn curious about Natasha's human. She's never mentioned knowing one outside of the ones she's met through me and Steve, and she's certainly never shown any friendliness toward any of them. She'd disliked Wanda on sight, and has only tolerated Steve because she had too, if she was going to be around me.

If I think about it though, Natasha has never been all that friendly to other paien, not even other werewolves, including those who were of her pack. There'd been Coulson, her alpha, and she'd had two other females who'd stayed with her when Coulson had been killed, but even before Coulson's death and her defeat of his successor, she'd only been tolerated in Coulson's pack because he liked her, and because of her fighting skills. Afterward, the only pack members who accepted her as their alpha were the lowest in the pack, and outcasts from other packs. I doubt any of them truly like her, though at least they respect her, since she's proven herself strong and as capable as any male.

Actually, it makes no damn sense that Natasha's got even a pet or human friend. Being seen – _defending_ one here – will only come across as a weakness once it gets out, and might give a couple of her packmates ideas about challenging her as unfit to lead. I suppose Natasha could be flushing those types out, but that's pretty involved, even for her, and again predisposes her human doesn't mind being used as bait, which means they're crazy, or an idiot.

Or a human who can hold his own just about as well as Steve is doing. I'm not sure how I missed him before, since what I'm finally noticing is something worth watching. Something, someone with biceps to die for, and a smirk that says he's enjoying himself, so I settle back to enjoy _myself_.

He can fight. Not as pretty or controlled as Steve; not as vicious or desperately as I do, but still as someone who's aware of what he's capable of, and not afraid to get a little bruised and bloody. It takes me a few seconds to see that Nat's back in the bar and fighting at this guy's back, also looking like she's thoroughly enjoying herself, while the number of foes they're taking on is steadily decreasing by their own hand.

Thor and Sif's hands too, and soon all but a few of the diehards have fallen, been thrown out, or otherwise have wised up and slunk off with the realization that there's going to be money if not hides collected to pay for all of the damage. I start pulling out glasses and mugs. Sif and Thor are going to want mead after all their hard work, while Steve will just accept water, Tony anything expensive, and Nat's going to want Sobieski Cynamon Cinnamon Vodka, which is just as vile as it sounds, but pretty damn good to lick out of her mouth.

Not that I should be thinking such thoughts, or wanting to think about her human knowing that too –

"Hey, Bucky," Natasha greets him with that hint of a growl to her voice that even now makes me smile.

I nod. "Nat. Have fun?"

Her smile is more teeth than fang, and stained with blood, but since there's no sign of skin or other viscera stuck between her teeth, I'm going to assume it's all from the split lip she's sporting.

"Don't I always?" She accepts the glass I hand her and throws half of it back, then closes her eyes as she swirls it around in her mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, not that I'm staring at her throat, or that she's making a show of it for me. Nope.

When she opens her eyes, they go toward her human, who's listening earnestly to something Thor is saying.

"Shouldn't you be over there with your – " I cut myself off before I says something even more stupid.

"His name is Clint and, as I'm sure you saw, he can take care of himself."

Her smile isn't red anymore, but it also isn't any less dangerous. 

"Thor's not mad, at least not at him, anyway, and it's not like either of us started it."

I tisk. "Other than you bringing a human into a paien bar. A human that looks like that, into a bar that had a kitsune on hand."

"It's not like I knew the slut would be here when I came in," Natasha snarls back reflexively before draining her glass.

"Still, Nat, he's human." One hundred percent genuine, which is something that Bucky can tell thanks to his Auphe half. He doesn't think he'd made a mistake in that, even though most paien read _him_ as human, so Bucky knows of at least one kind of monster most other paien can't detect.

"So is Steve," she hisses back. "You don't leave him behind. Nor do you tolerate anyone who treats him like prey."

I didn't mean to hit the nerve that I did, making it sound like I'm actually judging her instead of teasing, so I fill up her glass again and say with a grin she used to find charming, "True, but we both know I brought Steve here the first time because I'm a natural born shit-stirrer. You, on the other hand, are too careful and calculating to do something like that. Now, I could be arrogant and say you thought I'd be on duty and you brought him here to make a point to me, but even if that's true, you were taking chances with his life. Especially when you left him alone in here while you went after the five-tail."

Okay, that still maybe sounds like I'm judging, but it's not because I think I'm somehow better than she is, other than at making mistakes. Fortunately, she seems to sense that I'm not looking to fight or belittle her, and relaxes her shoulders.

"Like I said, Clint can take care of himself, and it wasn't like Thor was going to let anything bad happen. I introduced Clint to him first before we took one of the booths. And I never expected the kitsune to proposition Clint while I was sitting there across from him. She didn't take his kind rejection graciously, nor paid attention to my warning, so what was I to do?"

"No doubt exactly what you did," I say agreeably. "You certainly can't let some other woman make a claim on your – "

Natasha laughs. "Oh, hell no! He's not my mate or even a new boyfriend. Yuk. That'd be like you French kissing your brother."

The look she gives me is more one of amusement and surprise.

"Don't you remember me telling you that I was sold to a circus when I got brought to America as a pup?" she goes on. "But that it had ended up turning out okay because they saw value in a wolf that could turn into a girl, especially one who wasn't afraid of the high wire or the big cats; one who could dance like a ballerina yet also fought like a Cossack? And that there was a boy there that was just as afraid as I was, but stood as my protector from the cruel ones, and who accepted my protection from the bad ones. I even told you his name – "

"I think I was more hung up on you getting sold in the first place to hear that you maybe found some kind of peace there. And I know I didn't care about some kid's – some other _boy's_ – name that you liked."

Again Natasha laughs, and gives me a look this time that's part pity, and part fondness.

"That _other boy_ was maybe ten or eleven, James. No one to be jealous of. I knew you'd gotten angry when I told you, but didn't think it was even in part from jealousy. Besides, in addition to being a child, he already liked boys better than girls. By the time either of us learned about sex, we already knew it wouldn't be with each other."

I can't help taking another look at her human … her Clint. Something, no doubt, Natasha knew I would do, thus why she mentioned anything more than her childhood protector's age. Hell, she'd probably already smelled my attraction to him.

"And if you pour me one of Tony's top shelf brandies, Bucky, I'll even introduce the two of you."

\- finis -


	4. The Cheat Sheet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where I explain who the character analogs (more or less) are in the fusions

**1\. (The Magicians)**

Quentin = Steven Rogers:

Fostered at a young age, Steve grew up with Bucky and Rebecca Barnes. Sickly as a child and unable to play outside with the other kids, Steve found refuge in the _Fillory and Further_ books, to the point of doing artwork to accompany the stories. It turned out that Steve was pretty good at drawing, enough that even when he outgrew his illnesses, he still preferred his books and art to people - and good enough to win a scholarship to an art school. Now at a crossroads, Steve can continue his studies as long as he agrees to work for an ad agency during his schooling and for a couple of years afterward, he's caught between doing art for money or for love. Awkward around people, he nevertheless often finds others looking to his lead (and expecting him to have ideas or the answers.)

Julia = Bucky Barnes:

Bucky sees himself in the role of protector. He grew up as the big brother to Rebecca and to his best friend, Steve Rogers. He read the first of the _Fillory and Further_ books because the characters meant so much to Steve, but found himself continuing through the series because they came to mean something to him. If magic were real, he could fix Stevie. As he got older, Bucky still put others first, and otherwise conformed to be what was expected of him over what he actually wanted. He got a girlfriend despite preferring guys; got a job instead of continuing with college; and is considering enlisting if Steve goes to Grad school, so that when they're both done, they can afford to get a real place instead of living with Bucky's girlfriend.

Alice = Thor:

Donald Blake comes from a family of magicians. His parents are also well connected to the Neo-pagan Norse Renaissance movement, and style their home and their selves as the rulers of Valhalla. Home-schooled in magic from a young age, Thor follows his foster brother to (Brakebills), hoping to find out why Loki quit the school and disappeared. Thor would rather just be Donald and go to med school, but magic comes easy and family comes first.

Eliot = Tony Stark:

Tony is the life of the party All The Time. He's the most connected, best "physical" magician at the school, and goes through life drunk or stoned. He's lived the part so long he can't really step away, in part because everyone loves and admires drunk, Fun-Tony. Being a wastrel is also living up to his dad's expectations yet made worse, since he's still a better magician than his father ever managed.

Margo = Bruce Banner:

Bruce is Tony's platonic soulmate. Bruce and Tony rule (Brakebills). To cover for his feelings that he doesn't deserve his fellow students' admiration -deserve Tony's friendship - Bruce hides behind an arrogant and caustic mask. He's always ready to go along with Tony even when he knows it won't end well. The students fear getting on his bad side since in a world where magic exists, words can hurt even more than fists.

Kady = Clint Barton:

Born as trailer trash, Clint's parents died drunk and angry, but not before passing on the anger to their two young sons. Adoring his older brother, Clint did everything Barney told him too, with them running away from good homes and foster families to become petty criminals just to survive. (Brakebills) is Clint's chance to get out from under Barney and the Hedge Witches Barney calls family, but Clint's still loyal to Barney and thinks he can make them both better.

Penny = Natasha Romanova

Tasha has always heard voices in her head. She learned young not to let on, but in doing so became aloof, cynical, and mistrusting of pretty much everyone, including the institutional instructors back home in Russia. She craves independence and loves that she can now do what she wants, needing (or liking) no one. Until she meets Clint.

Marina (with a little of Charlie thrown in) = Loki 

Fen = Pepper Potts

Dean Fogg = Nick Fury

Mischa Mayakovsky = Phil Coulson

Pearl Sunderland = Maria Hill

**2\. Chilling Adventures of Sabrina**

Sabrina Spellman = Wanda Maximoff 

Harvey Kinkle = Steve Rogers

Father Faustus Blackwood = Baron Von Strucker

Hilda Spellman = Clint Barton

Zelda Spellman = Natasha Romanova

Ambrose Spellman = Tony Stark

Mary Wardwell/Lilith/Madam Satan = Loki

Rosalind "Roz" Walker = Sam Wilson

Susie Putnam/Theo Putnam = Bruce Banner

Nicholas "Nick" Scratch = Jarvis

Dr. Cerberus = Phil Coulson

Prudence Blackwood = Nebula

Agatha = Gamora

Dorcas = Mantis

Salem (Sabrina's familiar) = Pietro 

Nick's familiar = Ultron

Dorian Gray = Thor

**3\. Cal Leandros Book Series**

Caliban Leandros = Bucky Barnes

Niko Leandros = Steve Rogers

Robin Goodfellow = Tony Stark

Promise Nottinger = Peggy Carter

Delilah = Natasha Romanova

Ishiah = Thor

Georgina = Wanda

Original character = Clint


End file.
